“Why are you sitting on the damn couch while we’re moving your furniture?” Abel challenges.
“Because your dumb ass keeps calling me Rosie. I didn’t know you were talking to me.” She pops another Bugle in her mouth and I can’t help feeling amused by this whole exchange. It appears there is one other person in this world who enjoys giving Abel shit as much as I do. This may be the beginning of a beautiful and ornery partnership.
“There are still more boxes in the U-Haul,” Abel suggests with just a hint of demand. “If you get bored, you could always help bring them up.”
Her head turns slowly, her eyes wide in fake shock. Then she rubs her hand over her belly. “It’s not good for the baby for me to lift things.”
He points right at her, anger flashing on his face. “That is a load of crap.”
Geez, man. Is this how all cousins fight all the time? I’m an only child with one cousin living three states away. These family dynamics are so weird. I hope our kid has a high tolerance for noise.
“You haven’t gone to my doctor,” she says sweetly. “You don’t know what’s good or bad for me.”
Abel narrows his eyes, and I can see him getting ready to try a different tactic. He gives me the same look all the time. It’s usually followed by a low blow. “Hey, have you told your mom you’re pregnant yet?”
Yep. Called it.
Rosalind’s jaw drops open. Her eyes are almost as wide as her mouth. “Abel Anthony DiSoto, I swear on Nonna’s grave I will rip your nuts off if you tell my mother before I do.”
“Nonna is alive!”
“All the more reason to keep your trap shut.”
“Then get your ass off the couch and help.”
Rosalind slaps her hand down on the cushion. “I am a princess, Abel. I pay people to move furniture for me.”
“You aren’t paying me.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Great! Does that mean I don’t have to spring for pizza and beer?”
“No, it does not.” Abel turns his annoyance on me. He’s probably just hangry. “In fact, you better get me stuffed crust with extra toppings after all this bullshit.”
“Like I said,” Rosalind interjects, “I’m paying you to move my stuff.”
“No. Joey is paying me to move your stuff.”
Rosalind rubs her still mostly flat belly again and gives Abel a sweet smile. It’s totally fake. I love it. “He and I are a team now. What’s his is mine. What’s mine is mine. Therefore, we are paying you to move furniture while I sit on the couch and feed the baby.”
I laugh at her logic and obvious attempt at claiming rights to literally everything. Abel is less amused, which makes the whole thing even funnier. “You are a bigger pain in the butt than if I had a sweltering boil on my ass.”
“Watch your language in front of my kid.”
“It doesn’t even have ears yet!” Abel yells, completely flustered at this point. Hands down, Rosalind has won whatever weird competition they have going, and I am having the time of my life just watching. How he lives with three women with no problem, but immediately gets flustered by his cousin’s quick wit, is beyond my understanding.
“Okay, okay. Enough.” Elliott walks in from the kitchen. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I hear less bickering from the two nine-year-old girls that I live with. Rosalind, do you want to at least start putting stuff away? No lifting, just organizing?”
Ah, Elliott. Always the voice of reason. It’s probably the natural parent in her. I should be taking notes right now.
Rosalind thinks on it and puffs out a breath before looking at me. “Did you bring the box of my winter clothes in yet?”
“I think those were the first boxes we carried up. They’re on your bed.”
“Okay,” she says with a shrug. “I can help.” Without another word, she pushes off the couch and saunters to her new bedroom, winking at me as she walks by. I have a feeling she’s just going to watch TV in there out of Abel’s eyesight. Grabbing the Bugles bag was a dead giveaway.
Speaking of, Abel turns back to me, a mixture of irritation and concern all over his face. “You sure you want to live with that one?”
I smile and clap him on the shoulder, moving past him for one of those beers I already mentioned. “I like her feisty attitude. Keeps things interesting.”
He follows me, stopping only to give Elliott a quick peck on the lips. She mentions something about taking a potty break, which only makes me wonder if I should start using the word “potty” now. Pee? Urinate? Tinkle? Good thing I have a while to find some kid-friendly words about bodily functions.
“How old will this baby be before we need to start toilet training?” I ask Abel, because there’s no harm in finding this stuff out early.
“Toilet training? What are you British now?”
I push a couple of boxes out of the way so I can grab two bottles from the fridge. The whole room is cluttered with containers of all shapes and sizes, but at least half of them are empty. Thank God for Elliott and her willingness to help unpack. If it was left up to me and Rosalind, we’d probably live like this forever.
I toss the bottle to Abel and he catches it, twisting the top off and taking a quick swig before I can answer his quip.
“I couldn’t think of a family-friendly way of expressing myself. Seriously, though. When can I stop shelling out money for diapers?”
“I don’t know.” Abel shrugs. “I guess it depends on if you have another one anytime soon.”
The sip I just took gets caught in my throat, and it takes all my effort not to spray beer all over him while I choke on his words. The fucker laughs at my plight and drinks with ease, not even bothering to pat me on the back.
Wiping my mouth with the back of my sleeve, my cough finally tapers off. “Why would you even say that? I’m thrilled about this first one, but let me get through having it first, would ya?”
“You know twins runs in the family, right?” he shoots back, clearly amused at the panic he’s instilling in me.
“Why are you getting such enjoyment out of giving me anxiety?”
He laughs lightly and lifts the bottle to his lips again. “Same reason you enjoy Rosie giving me shit. Besides, you seem to be taking this whole situation in stride.”
“What else am I supposed to do? Be pissed off? Nah, man. That baby didn’t do anything wrong. Not his fault I have great aim.”
“I have to admit, you’ve impressed me with your desire to do the right thing.”
Setting my bottle down on the counter, I lean back and rest my hands on the ledge behind me. “It’s not doing the right thing. That’s the bare minimum. Like giving her money every month and showing up every other weekend. I can’t imagine only putting in that kind of effort and not being there for them. Having a relationship with both of them. It’s just… I can’t… I mean…”
“It’s love, man.”
The thought has crossed my mind, but it’s so early in our relationship, I don’t want to get ahead of myself. So I make sure to look at him like he’s crazy. “Rosalind? We’re just getting to know each other.”
“No, you dickhead. The baby. That’s exactly how I feel about Mabel and Ainsley. The thought of being away from them makes my heart physically hurt.”
“Yeah. That’s it exactly.”
It’s also not what I expected from myself so soon. Sure, I always envisioned having a family someday, once I was done sowing my wild oats and found someone to settle down with. What I wasn’t expecting was how quickly my protective instincts would kick in. How quickly I could say with absolute certainty I would die for my child. It was almost immediate from the time Rosalind sent me that first text. The idea of being a caring, doting, involved dad just seems normal.
Chalk it up to having really good parents who taught me what it meant to be loved through and through, I suppose. Of course, they could have loved me a bit more by not ditching me for the warmer temperatures of South Florida, but I suppose I can’t hold that ag
ainst them. It’s their retirement. Besides, vacationing on the beach is a hell of a lot cheaper when you have a free place to stay. My mother reminded me of that as she drove off in the moving van.
“You think it’s bad now. Wait until you see your baby’s face for the first time.” He throws his head back and laughs. “Oh man, I hope they take pictures when you start crying.”
I push off the counter and down the rest of my beer, dropping the now empty bottle in the recycling container. “You better believe I’ll be boo-hooing all over that hospital room. I’m not ashamed. Hey, speaking of the girls, where are they anyway?”
“Elliott’s mom has them for the day.”
My eyebrows shoot up before I can stop them. “Elliott’s mom?”
He chuckles lightly. “It surprised me as much as you the first time she offered. But I guess Rosemary has decided we’re a real family now and has taken to my girl. I’m not complaining. It’s kind of nice. The other day she was out shopping and picked up matching jammies for the girls just because she thought of them.”
“Did they have pink ducks on them?”
“What? No. Why would they have pink ducks on them?”
“No idea. Elliott’s mom strikes me as the kind of person that doesn’t care if something is butt ugly. If it makes her happy, she’s going to buy it for you and make you wear it.”
“Because she got me that White Sox jersey? I told you, I didn’t want to offend her by telling her that team was created straight from the pits of hell.”
“You’re a wuss. I’ll give her that she tried hard, but did she really?” I propose. “Red Sox and White Sox aren’t even close on the color spectrum. I still think she did it on purpose to make you look like an idiot.”
He rolls his eyes before finishing off his own beer. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“I have pictures that say otherwise.”
“Pictures that better not ever see the light of day.”
“No guarantees. Piss me off enough and I might forward them to Rosalind. I’m sure she’ll have something to say about your betrayal.”
“Hey, Joey.” Elliott interrupts my empty threats. Or maybe they aren’t empty. We. Shall. See.
“How many baby books do you plan to read before yours gets here?” A sudden feeling of shyness takes over as she holds up the two books I’ve been reading, one by some guy that may or may not have been in Star Trek and Pregnancy Sucks.
“Did I get the wrong ones or something?” I rub the back of my neck, trying to get rid of the heat I feel trying to climb up to my face. I hate blushing. It makes me look blotchy. “Are those not good to read?”
“No, they’re great.” She flips one of them over and reads the back. “This Pregnancy Sucks book sounds kind of funny.”
“It’s not bad,” I admit. “Way less boring than the other one.”
Abel takes one of the books from her and starts flipping through it.
“Dr. Spock has some good information, but he’s definitely drier in his presentation,” she agrees.
“Did you find these in the bathroom?” Abel asks her, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“In a little basket by the toilet.”
I shrug with indifference. “What else am I going to do when I take a dump?” I ask him before Elliott can say anything. Good thing, too. Her response is a gag that makes me laugh.
“You two are so gross.” She slaps the other book into Abel’s hand and turns back to one of the almost empty boxes. “Don’t you have some more furniture to carry or something?”
“I think that means we’ve been kicked out of the kitchen.” Abel pushes off the counter and kisses Elliott on the neck before disposing of his own empty bottle.
It’s sweet the way they’re so comfortable with each other. I wonder what it’s like to interact so effortlessly with someone else. As if you almost share the same thoughts. A part of me has the weird hope that someday Rosalind and I will be the same way at some point.
Nah. More likely she’d kick me in the shin if I came up behind her and startled her like that. From the beginning, she’s struck me as the type who doesn’t want to be touched unless she initiates it. I’m okay with that.
“Alright. Second wind, dude.” Abel claps me on the back, trying to drum up my motivation. I’m not fooled. He’s actually trying to motivate himself. “I think we’ve got the bulk of it already, so let’s try to get this done quick.”
“That stuffed crust is really calling your name, huh?”
“I’m a growing boy.”
“Just don’t grow too much. I don’t need my training buddy to wuss out on me. Strongman is five months away. I’m the one who needs to start bulking up.”
“Sucks for you,” he says with a grin and runs his hand over his washboard abs. What a dick.
We head down a bazillion stairs to the street where the truck is parked. Fortunately, the dresser was the heaviest thing Rosalind seems to own, so except for the whole two-flights-of-stairs thing, it doesn’t take much effort to finish up. What does take effort, however, is Abel deciding what type of pizza to order. After a solid hour of debating himself, he finally gives up and lets Elliott decide. I’m not convinced she didn’t somehow work that to her benefit because who the hell thinks pineapple is a pizza topping? Elliott. That’s who.
Looking around the living room, I realize the one person we’re missing is the same one we’re all here for. “Have you guys seen Rosalind lately?”
Abel gives me a halfhearted “nope,” but he and Elliott are too busy canoodling on the couch. At least, I think that’s what they’re doing. I’m not positive what “canoodling” actually means, but I assume that giggly, snuggly thing going on is it.
Deciding I’d rather not be here for this and more than curious where my baby mama disappeared to, I turn tail and follow the sounds of some crazy catfight on a television down the hall.
Sure enough, my prediction was correct. An empty Bugles bag is lying next to Rosalind as she relaxes on the bed. The smile on her face makes my heart stutter. Maybe it’s the pregnancy glow or maybe it’s because she has so many people on her side, but she looks beautiful like this—totally peaceful.
I’m glad to see her feeling so rested. I’m sure the closet still empty of any hanging clothes is part of her serene demeanor.
“Pizza’s on the way,” I say with a smile, leaning against the doorjamb. I don’t want to invite myself into her room without her permission, no matter how badly I want to go sit next to her and lose myself in whatever mindless crap television she’s watching.
She doesn’t even blink. “What kind?”
“Extra meat on two of them and Canadian bacon with pineapple on a stuffed crust.”
That grabs her attention. She crinkles her nose in disgust. “Whose dumb idea was that?”
“Elliott’s.”
“I like Elliott. She’s really nice. But her pizza choices leave some room for improvement.”
“I agree,” I say with a chuckle and gesture at all the boxes still sitting around unopened. “You haven’t made much movement on unpacking.”
“You didn’t bring me my box of hangers.”
I drop my head to my chest and smile. This girl has a quick comeback for everything. I find it incredibly sexy.
“I didn’t realize I needed to, but I’ll keep my eyes peeled for it. In the meantime”—I point into her room, requesting entrance—“may I?”
“Sure. It’s your apartment too.”
“I don’t want to invade your privacy.”
Rosalind scoffs, that tough exterior on display like always. “You’ve seen me naked, Joey. And not just at work, but with my legs wrapped around your head. I think we passed the point of privacy a long time ago.”
I climb onto her bed and settle in next to her. “I’m not going to make any assumptions about boundaries because we slept together once. I may be a selfish idiot, but I’m not an asshole.”
“No, it doesn’t appear that you are,” she mutters u
nder her breath, but I hear it loud and clear. And what she’s said without words is she appreciates that I’m doing right by her in more ways than one. Message received.
We fall into an easy silence, which seems to be normal for us. I don’t hate it. I spend so much of my day interacting with people and schmoozing clients, it’s kind of nice to just be with her without having to do anything other than just be.
It also helps that whatever she has on the boob tube is like watching a train wreck.
“What the hell is this crap we’re watching?” I finally ask, not able to take anymore without getting a little background information. All I can figure so far is whoever this woman is, she hates everything and everyone in the entire free world.
Rosalind laughs and I think it’s the first time I’ve heard her make that sound. It’s kind of loud. Kind of obnoxious. And kind of makes me feel like I want to hear it again because it means she’s well and truly happy. It’s also really weird for me to be having these girly thoughts. Must be pregnancy pheromones rubbing off on me. One of my books says that’s a thing.
“It’s my favorite gossip show.”
“Why is the host so angry?”
Rosalind shoves me lightly. “She’s not angry. She’s opinionated.”
“She hates everything. That’s not opinionated. That means she needs therapy.”
“Maybe. But I like her. She says what everyone else is thinking.”
“Ummm…” I cock my head as the host makes a quip about the length of some celebrity’s dress at a red-carpet event. “I don’t think everyone was thinking that a hemline makes someone automatically look like a whore.”
“Okay, fine. You got me there. I think that dress is pretty.” She doesn’t laugh this time, but she’s still smiling. “I don’t know. She’s just unfiltered. Makes me feel like it’s okay that I say what I think too.”
“Who says you can’t?”
She shoots me an incredulous look. “Pretty much everyone my entire life.”
Weights of Wrath (Cipher Office Book 4) Page 6
